


Absence

by Builder



Series: Spiderverse [31]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fever, Flu, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Iron dad and Spider son, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-22 08:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “‘S wrong with you?”  Tony looks up from his own plate of Chinese takeaway, his mouth still half full of lo mien.“Just, uh,” Peter starts, sitting on the brink of truthfulness and anxiety.'Don’t worry Mr. Stark.  But he might have some advice on how to stay up all night.  After all, he does it all the time.  Come on, you’re such a dweeb.  You should know how by now.  You’re freaking Spider-Man.'“Just, uh, what?” Tony parrots him, giving him a blank stare, then raising his eyebrows.  He spears a mushroom on the end of his fork and chomps it between his teeth.“Tired,” Peter answers truthfully.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: Spiderverse [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/849948
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	Absence

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @builder051

Peter rubs at his eyes, then realizes his fork is still in his hand, and quickly drops it. He won’d do much damage with the non-pointy end, but still. No need to exacerbate the already bruise-like dark circles under his eyes with a red mark. Then it’ll really look like he’s gotten into a fight. 

“‘S wrong with you?” Tony looks up from his own plate of Chinese takeaway, his mouth still half full of lo mien. 

“Just, uh,” Peter starts, sitting on the brink of truthfulness and anxiety. _Don’t worry Mr. Stark. But he might have some advice on how to stay up all night. After all, he does it all the time. Come on, you’re such a dweeb. You should know how by now. You’re freaking Spider-Man._

“Just, uh, what?” Tony parrots him, giving him a blank stare, then raising his eyebrows. He spears a mushroom on the end of his fork and chomps it between his teeth.

“Tired,” Peter answers truthfully. He hasn’t slept a full night in the past…He counts backward in his head. Four…five…six days? A week? He isn’t sure. He isn’t sure why, either. His dreams are something else, too. Shit about bicycle chains, and quadratic equations, and– Peter knows finals are coming up, but, really, it’s all a bit much. 

“Mm,” Tony says. “So, maybe, you wanna watch a movie? Instead of messing around down in the lab? When we’re done with this, I mean.” He gestures at the table, which is still strewn with a half-dozen dishes, including an enticing bag of sugared doughnuts. 

It’s tempting, but Peter forces himself to shake his head. “I’ve got tests, he mutters.” It’s the truth, but it feels more like an excuse.

“Oh,” Tony looks like he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s crestfallen. “Sure. Studies first, you know.” He nods, as if building strength behind his words. “Good on ya.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says automatically. “I just, I want to do well, and I haven’t been sleeping that great, and, like, I do so much better when I’m here, like away from the city noise and stuff. I wanna go over my notes, like, once and then I’ll lie down and–” Peter realizes his words are coming out at a speed that’s making his head spin. He pauses and takes a breath just as Tony’s hand comes up to stop him.

“Ok, ok.” Tony puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”

Peter practically runs to his room, forcing himself not to look back to see if Mr. Stark is watching him go. He closes the door behind himself and changes into pajamas, then leaps into bed with his Spanish notes. His stomach makes an uncomfortable noise when he pulls the covers up over it, but Peter pays it no mind. He has vocabulary to attempt at memorizing before he lets his eyelids droop and his brain succumb to dreams.

Peter catches himself when his chin hits his chest. He lifts his head and pinches the bridge of his nose until fingernail marks show up on either side, marring his pale skin. “Argh,” he cries out softly, for that’s not all that hurts. His head, his gut, everything practically all the way down to his toes is aching. Peter’s pretty sure he’s running a fever. At least that would explain the last few days’ mild misery. 

_Oh well_ , Peter thinks. He’s Spider-Man. He has rapid healing. This bug ought to be no match for him. He picks up his notes from where they’ve fallen in his lap and begins to read over them again. It doesn’t take long for his eyelids to begin to droop, though, and just as before, it only takes a few moments for him to drop back off to sleep.

The next time Peter wakes, much more time has passed. He barely gets a glimpse at the red glow of the alarm clock, though, when hot liquid shoots up his throat and he knows he has to get out of here–now. He scrambles to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get on his feet. The carpet feels cold, almost wet, on his feverish skin, and his shoulders knock off the sides of the doorway as he makes a run for the bathroom next door.

Peter makes it to the toilet, but only just. He grabs the seat with both hands and vomits profusely while his feet struggle for purchase on the slick tile. He finally catches a break and lowers himself to his knees and rest his chin on the edge of the bowl, breathing deeply. “Please not again,” Peter whispers, though his stomach is roiling and preparing for yes, again. 

He heaves himself up, keeping the retch at bay until he’s fully on his knees, then lets go a torrent of semi-liquid bile and undigested food into the already cloudy water. “Ugh,” Peter groans. He begins to shiver, and he wishes for warm arms around his shoulders. Aunt May would be nice. Mr. Stark would be… Peter doesn’t dare to think what it would be like to have a father figure come to comfort him. 

Peter retches again, so he doesn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind him. He does hear the voices, though. “Peter? What on Earth?” There’s a swish of a silk bathrobe, and all of a sudden somebody’s cool hands are on the back of his neck. “Ok, ok, just get it up.”

“Pepper?” Peter chokes, lifting his head and accidentally decorating the toilet seat with a ribbon of yellow mucous.

“Yeah, honey, I’m here,” she replies. “Tony, come on. He’s sick.”

Peter does hear the “What? Really?” coming from the hallway, then the door bouncing off the wall. “Why didn’t you say something earlier, kid?”

Peter can’t answer because his head’s in the toilet again.

“Tony, give him a minute,” Pepper warns.

“Sorry. Hey, kid. You alright?” Tony pats Peter’s shoulder. Pepper falls back so he can move in and take control of the situation. “You wanna to back to bed, or–?”

Peter lets loose a sick belch that brings up liquid and chunks of unknown origin. He whimpers and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Tony gives Peter half a hug. “It’s ok, you know. It’s flu season; it’s not your fault.”

“Really?” Peter chances a glance up at him. “But I–I shouldn’t–”

“You’ll heal faster, don’t get me wrong,” Tony says with a grin. “But a bad day or two.” He shrugs. “Better here than there.”

“Sure,” Peter mumbles, spitting a string from his lower lip.

“You got it.” Tony gently ruffles his hair. “I got it too.”


End file.
